


Watson- Holmes

by Crimson_Camouflage



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Johnlock - Freeform, Kidnapping, M/M, Parent!lock, Parenthood, Protective Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-07-23 07:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20004451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson_Camouflage/pseuds/Crimson_Camouflage
Summary: John and Sherlock are married and raising Rosie (14) and Hamish (7) in 221b. One Saturday afternoon Sherlock and John are off working a case when Hamish goes missing





	1. How it all Started

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fist published fanfic ever so constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. I really hope you enjoy. :)

When John moved back into 221b after Mary's death, he found the pain easier to deal with than when he was alone. Rosie absolutely loved Sherlock, so John wasn't necessarily surprised when she began to call Sherlock "Da-da" too. Being with the two people he loved the most let John accept the past and move on.

It was late at night and the two just got home after solving a case, while Rosie was being babysat Mrs. Hudson (now also known as "Grammy") when Sherlock said it. They were just outside the door of their flat.

"John?"

"Hm?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, "You know how I feel about sentiment, extremely pointless and a waste of time, but..." He took a deep breath. "But i have found that I do appreciate your company and was wondering if you would like to go out with me for dinner one night?"

"Sherlock, this isn't an-"

"It's not an experiment, John." Sherlock looked at him with a small smile, and with his usually cold, but now soft eyes said _please._

"Then I would love to."

"Next Saturday?"

"Fantastic."

With that Sherlock entered the flat to make tea and John went to get the 1 1/2 year old from Mrs. Hudson. After tucking Rosie into her crib in his room, John joined Sherlock downstairs. They sipped tea and sat in peaceful silence for a good half hour until John shuffled upstairs with a "G'night". 

That Saturday was perfect. They ate at Angelo's restaurant and this time accepted the candle but still ignored his smirks. It was perfect. It was true that Sherlock had grown more emotional since John came around, even if he was still an arse. Sherlock being open, honest, and even _kind_ in the way he let John only see, and still being himself. John at first hated the looks people gave them, not judgy (most of the time), but _look at that gay couple. _The truth is hes not gay, might not even be pan or bi because he only ever felt this way about a man with Sherlock. But as the dates continued and the months passed, John just ignored the other people or would even joke that he was Holmesexual _._

It was 18 months later and Rosie was 3 when she got John's room to herself and John slept regularly in Sherlock's. It was at about the same time that John had his first _experience_ with a man, and Sherlock's first at all.

6 months after that when John invited over Mrs. Hudson for dinner, and after dessert with Rosie and her "Granny" watching, he popped the question; and a second after that is when Sherlock said yes.  


They were wedded and their last names changed to Watson- Holmes when Rosie was 4. It wasn't a big wedding and neither of them planned to walk down the aisle but Rosie really wanted to be a flower girl, so John gave in. Before going down the aisle Rosie tugged John down so she could look at him at eye level. She put a small rose in his white dress suit pocket before pulling him into a tight hug and whispering in his ear "I love you Papa." 

"I love you too, Sweetheart."

"It's almost time for you to go to Daddy," she said with a giggle before skipping down the aisle scattering rose petals (her request "See _rose_ like my name!").

John stepped out onto the aisle. He looked around at all his friends and family. Harry, Mrs.Hudson, Angelo, Irene, Molly, and Mycroft(?!) to name a few. Up at the alter he saw Lestrade, who had gotten ordained for the occasion. He saw Mike, his best man, and (for some reason) Bill as Sherlock's. And then there was Sherlock himself. John couldn't help but chuckle as he remembered when he asked Sherlock why he was okay with all this sentimental stuff and Sherlock replied quite matter-of-factly "Because I get to be with you and everyone else knows. Now leave me alone, I need to finish this for a case". Sherlock looked so handsome. With his black suit and blacker mess of curly hair against his alabaster skin. The 'I dos' came quickly and the kiss was long and sweet.

^*^*^*^*^

It seemed that Rosie had been asking for a sibling since she could talk, so when that was all she asked for for her 6th birthday, John and Sherlock got talking. Since John already had a biological child, they decided that Sherlock should father the next. It took time, but they hired a surrogate, who was then artificially inseminated, then finally, 14 months after Rosie's 6th birthday party, 9 after the pregnancy started, a baby boy was born. He was on the smaller side but still healthy and already had his father's wild black curls. Rosie cried tears of joy the first time she held him. The three decided on the name Hamish William Watson- Holmes.

Hamish spent the first two years of his life in crib, the first in his parent's room and then upstairs in his room shared with Rosie. Rosie loved Hamish and never got angry with him, which surprised almost everyone they met because aren't sibling _supposed_ to get into fights? The little boy was quiet and rarely ever cried. And he loved to listen.

By age 3 he was sleeping on the bottom bunk while 10 year old Rosie slept on the top.

He had just began to speak a week ago, his first words were in sentences, spoken perfectly. Everyone already knew Hamish was amazing though. At 3 he had already been waking down stairs normally for a while, could play violin quite well, and could do multiplication and division; but he never spoke. When someone would point this out Sherlock would say, "He's doesn't like to. He prefers to listen." And because of that John never questioned it either. But about a week ago he came quietly down the stairs to the flat where Rosie had been tidying up while Sherlock made tea and John prepared biscuits. Hamish padded around the flat looking for something, then began frantically searching.

"Is everything alright Ham?" asks Rosie. Hamish didn't usually act like this, especially not in the morning. Usually he sits on the couch or at the table and waits for his biscuits; quiet and deep in thought.

"No, everything is not alright. I can't find my violin! Dad, Papa, have you seen my violin?" 

While Rosie stood there gaping, Sherlock came in the room John following close behind.

"Oh yes, I think i have," said Sherlock. He quickly found it beneath a pile of papers and handed the small boy both the violin and the bow.

"Thank you Dad," the man's short doppelganger replied. "And Rosie-"

"Hm?" she replied, still not believing that her brother was talking.

"I do prefer Hamish if you don't mind."

"Oh, okay," she stammers out while her little brother begins to play a sad, slow tune on the violin as she exchanges confused and impressed glances with Papa.

Sherlock has already gone back to the tea as if nothing of importance had happened. 

^*^*^*^*^

As Hamish was 7 years younger than Rosie it would make sense if he was about 7 grade levels lower than she was, but no, he was one. Rosie was 10 and in fifth grade at the top of her class when Hamish was 3 and moved up to fourth grade. The boy stunned the teachers with his incredible intelligence. All of his classmates were about three times his age and he was still the top of the class in overall test scores. And although some thought that this would make the girl jealous, they were wrong. It made her protective. She didn't want her brother to be hurt because of his smarts (at least he wasn't a showoff like Dad). Rosie was average height for her age but a bit stronger and more muscular; and Rosie was not stupid, she was smart, but Hamish was a genius. Hamish was a genius and tall for his age, but extremely lanky. He did not stand much chance if ever attacked, so she became his personal bodyguard protecting him from the jealous people he unintentionally made feel stupid. John and Sherlock didn't try to hide how proud they were of their kids. 


	2. Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When John and Sherlock leave to investigate a crime scene, Rosie is left with a sick Hamish. Something very wrong happens.

The flat was a mess. Papa and Dad were just on a case and they had let the kids help on this one. Three murders, each with identical stab wounds to the others . Hamish had got to see some of the evidence; although nothing gruesome, it made him feel sick. But things like this didn't scare Rosie, never did, which was why she was allowed to go to the crime scene with her parents. Although, considering where she came from this didn't really surprise her: ex- assassin mom, war vet papa, high- functioning sociopath dad. And she was just as much of a danger junkie as her papa, if not more. Last year her parents took her to a shooting range and the fist three pops from the pistol were almost perfect head shots. This left Papa's mouth hanging wide open and Dad smirking. That's when they started to let her be part of some of the minor things and stopped trying to hide them from her, she wasn't like normal kids at all.

So while both of her parents were in their room sleeping, Rosie made soup for dinner. They had solved the case yesterday night so they got little sleep. When Papa got home from his job at St. Bart's, he went straight to his room and flopped down on the bed, Dad following him shortly after. Filling two bowls with tomato soup and putting them on a platter, she carefully walked upstairs to her and her brother's shared room. Hamish had gotten a cold from the chilly and rainy weather the autumn brought with it. The 7 year old boy was already sitting up straight when she walked into the room, his curly hair wild in a bed-head style and his whole being radiating restlessness. "Here you go," she said handing him a bowl. He nodded his head in gratitude. They ate together in silence until Hamish finished. The 14 year old kissed him on the head as he picked up a book, frowning. Rosie went downstairs with the dirty dishes to find her fathers hurriedly finishing their bowls. "What's going on?" she asked sounding quite confused.

"We've got a case!" exclaimed Dad.

"But you just had a case," Rosie said teasingly.

"I know right!" Rosie loved the way Dad's face would light up when he had a case. They leaned down and each kissed one of her cheeks. 

"I love you guys."

"We love you too, now don't wait up for us alright? We could be out late." replied Papa.

"I won't." And with that they were out the door. A typical 5 o'clock on a Saturday in 221b.

At 5:30 Rosie went to make tea. She turned the water on and went to the fridge to get the milk. None. She always took milk in her tea. There was also no bread, cream, biscuits, or fruit. She was gonna need to go shopping. She turned the water off, grabbed some of her parents spending cash out of the sock drawer, and went upstairs to tell Hamish where she was going, that she would be back soon, and to call if he needed anything, and with that she locked the door to the bedroom and the flat.

She was gone for 20 minutes. 

Rosie gets back to the flat. The door is open, she locked it, but it's open. She walks into the living room, its been searched. The locks have been picked. Rosie drops the bags and bolts upstairs with frightening speed. Bloody hell. He's gone. 


	3. Wilson Plumbing Co.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Hamash gone, the remaining Watson-Holmes' work on finding him.

Rosie ran her hand through her dirty-blonde hair, folding her fingers to fists at her scalp. "Christ." This scene was messier; with obvious signs of a struggle. There were minor scuff marks on the floor and Hamish's bed sheets were thrown about. His favorite glasses were lying in a crushed pile underneath his nightstand. She walked to the bed and found a piece of parchment with the message written in black ink,

"Wait for the next message. No cops."

Rosie's knees gave out and she fell to the edge of the bed. The girl's hazel eyes began to fill with tears as panic took over her body. Images of horrific torture and brutal murder swam through her head; the realization that she may never see her baby brother again sinking in. She would NOT let that happen and panicking wouldn't help her brother. She took several deep breaths, stood up, looked around and assessed the situation. No blood- that was good. Hamish knew he was weak, and being sick didn't help either; but he put on a show. He knew fighting wouldn't help anything, so why risk getting beaten a bit? They could have tried to drug him, she thought to her self- or he could have been trying to distract them. Distract them from what? She looked underneath his pillow and found his small bottle of linseed oil, and had this not been the situation she would have smirked.

Dad had told them the story of the bother and sister taken from the boarding school, and how the brother used linseed oil to write a message on the walls. The oil had also gotten on the floor and showed the kidnappers' shoe sizes, gaits, and paces; as well as debris from their shoes that led Sherlock to the cite where the children had been taken. This was Hamish's favorite case. The cool thing about linseed oil was that it was clear, but it could be seen under a black light. Rosie ran to the closet and found the spare black light she kept and shown in on the floor and wall. On the floor there wee three pairs of foot prints- none of which were Hamish's, so he must have been carried. But more of a mystery, on the wall written quickly and slightly smeared read, "Wil"

Rosie picked up her phone and quickly dialed Papa.

"What's up Rosie?" asked her Papa in a calm tone.

"Is Dad with you?" she asked, worry tainting her voice. "I need to speak with him too."

"Yeah, he's here too," John now anxious because of his daughter's shaky voice. "Rosie, what's wrong?" Rosie was biting back tears at this point, not wanting to admit what she let happen.

"Hamish, Hamish is gone. I-I just went to go buy some food, I was gone for twenty minutes, he's gone and there's a note 'No cops'-" Rosie was speaking quickly now and had to stop to slow her breathing. 

Silence.

"I'm so sorry Papa."

"Rosie, this is not your fault. We will be to the flat in 15 minutes," there was urgency in John's voice now, but he was able to hide the fear successfully from Rosie; but not Sherlock. "Have you seen Mrs. Hudson?"

"N-no. I haven't gone to check on her yet," Rosie suddenly felt ashamed that she hadn't seen if her Granny was okay. "I'll do that now." And with that she hung up. 

Rosie entered Mrs. Hudson's flat and found her in the kitchen, sitting at the table. 

"Granny, I'm so glad you're alright! You haven't seen anyone come into or out of the flat have you?" Rosie said, her eyes puffy from the tears.

"Well no, dear," Mrs. Hudson replied. "But I just got back from dinner with the girls 10 minutes ago. Are you alight, you look a bit flushed?"

"Hamish- Hamish is _gone._ "

^*^*^*^*^

"Sherlock we need to get home. Now," John said while hailing a cab.

"What's happened at the flat?" Sherlock replied coolly, but John could hear the anxiety in his voice.

"Hamish is gone. Disappeared while Rosie was at the store," with this the two got in the cab. The ride to Bakerstreet was silent, both parents deep in thought. They squeezed each others hands the whole way there.

^*^*^*^*^

When the pair arrived at Bakerstreet they barged through the door and ran up the stairs. There they found Rosamund standing off to the side, waiting and unable to look her parents in the eyes. John put a comforting hand on her shoulder before joining Sherlock at the bed, who was already investigating. He took the black light and looked at the shoe prints. 

"The shoe sizes are 8, 9 and 11. Three people to get one child- could have been over estimating, but no. These criminals are smart enough that they knew when we would leave the flat and when Mrs. Hudson was out to dinner. This kidnapping was obviously targeted as they didn't just pick up some kid on the street. Three men for one small child. they knew that both Rosie and Hamish live here, but they did not anticipate Rosie leaving. Three men to get both kids. But it's still light out, so how kidnap without making it obvious?" Sherlock was speaking rapidly and with more nervousness than John had ever seen him while making deductions. 

"Could 'Wil' have anything to do with it?" asked Rosie, taking the light from Sherlock and shining it on the wall.

"So that's how they knew when we would leave!" exclaimed Sherlock. "And how they avoided suspicion. Hamish is a smart boy! With his last few moments before being taken he wrote what he saw. The people who took him were dressed as plumbers, wearing badges that read 'Wilson Plumbing Co.' W-i-l. Our boy is small and would be not struggle to put in a case or bag-" Sherlock saying those last 6 words with so much disgust that is almost scared Rosie. "I thought we took down their whole gang, but no; we were being watched."

"Wilson Plumbing Co." said John. "Like Davies' headquarters?" 

"Who's Davies?" Rosie cut in.

"Noah Davies; a gang-leader we put back away some 6 years ago. He ran guns and drugs and indirectly murder 7 people. Other higher ups were arrested and the what was thought the rest of the gang disbanded. Lestrade had called us in because an inmate had disappeared from his cell seemingly without a trace. That inmate was him," Sherlock replied, trying to remain stoic and focused.

"So he wants revenge?" Rosie asked.

"It looks like it," John sighed. "But why not hurt Sherlock and I directly?"

"Because he's trying to make a point. When we put him behind bars, he had two children of his own. Twin girls, they were 8 at the time. Davies wife never took them to see him; in fact, she moved to a different country and changed all of their names. The wife claimed to have had no idea that her husband was in a gang and said she thought he really was a plumber. I personally believed that she moved, not for fear or shame of her husband, but to try to avoid proof of her involvement. He didn't get to see his children grow up," Sherlock explained.

"So what do we do now?" Rosie asked, taking her gun from the lock box in her closet and slipping in the pocket of her coat before putting Hamish's spare pair of glasses in a case and tucking in in the other pocket. For when she saw him again.


	4. Rise and Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish regains consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a little darker but i didn't know if i called for a rating change so i left it. You have been warned...

When Hamish woke up, the first thing he noticed was the pounding in his head. The second was the pure terror he felt because his groggy mind refused to focus and the room before him was pitch black. The third was the bonds. He was seated in a wooden chair, his hands tied behind him and his ankles to the legs. His lap and chest were also bound, just in case. Hamish thought this to be excessive for a sick and frightened little boy. But as his mind became clearer he realized that the kidnappers did know his dad, so they probably expected him to have the escape-artist talent of Sherlock. Unfortunately he did not, even if he did look the part. Hamish was very tall and thin- like his Dad, but lacking the hidden strength. The boy did have the coal-black curls and a slim face which promised a pointed chin and sharp cheekbones as he got older. Hamish had the pale shut-in skin of his Dad's and deep, thoughtful eyes which were quite startling on a 7 year old. Although the boy's were a bit darker and not as cold; and nearsighted. Not being able to see either way, Hamish thought back, his head getting clearer. Rosie left for the store at just after 5:30. The men dressed as plumbers came about 3 minutes later. They had knocked him out with chloroform, which meant he had to be out for at least twenty minutes, maybe longer.

He didn't like not knowing that the 'plumbers' left quickly after, only staying a total of ten minutes. And that he missed Granny coming home by only two. That Rosie would find him missing three after that and would take seven minutes to call their parents. That he had been lifted from the van in an over-sized duffel where he had been placed, unconsciousness. He didn't like not knowing that the abandoned building he was being held in wasn't far from his house, or that he had gotten there before his parents even reached the flat. He wanted to know if his family had seen his message and made something of it. He wanted to know the motive for his abduction. But most of all he wanted to tell his family he loved them, just in case.

He coughed. His infected body along with the dust and mildew of the unfinished room and the nausea cased by the chloroform was not a good mix.

"Well look who's awake!" came a voice from the darkness. Hamish was frozen with fear. He recognized that voice. He said nothing but yelped as light flooded the dark room, assaulting his eyes. He snapped his eyes shut, but he began to gradually open them as his eyeballs adjusted. The floor and walls were the same color grey, making it hard to tell where one ended and the other began. From what Hamish could tell, he was probably in the center of a square room. He was facing what he believed to be a door less than 4 yards away and to his right what appeared to be a boarded-up window. There were 2 fuzzy figures to his left, they were close enough that the boy could tell that they were both men and close to middle aged. Hamish cursed not having his glasses, as he was unable to deduce anything more without his sight.

The voice spoke up again, the men were talking to each other. "So am I gonna get 'ta have some fun?" Hamish didn't see the large kitchen knife in the burly man's hand but took his meaning. He began to feel sick.

"Na, the boss said not to do anything 'till he got back," replied the other guy. "But I don't think it's gonna happ'n either way. He's too sickly to do much without killing him, and besides, most of it was meant for the other kid anyway. She's hardier. Too bad we couldn't get her too; boss might have 'r arses for this."

The voices were of two of the three men who had taken him from the flat.

"You leave Rosie alone!" cried the boy before he knew what was coming out of his mouth.

"Ah, so he talks," chirped the fist thug. He walked over and leaned into Hamish's face. "It really doesn't look like your in the place to make demands, squirt," he smirked. Hamish lifted his head and stared up at him while simultaneously pulling against the ropes. The boy was angrier than he had ever been, and for a brief moment in overrode both his fear and nausea. Hamish tilted his head down and spat on the man's shoes before looking back up and smirking. He regretted it as soon as he did. The man looked down at his shoes, then back up to the boy and sneered before quickly backhanding Hamish across the face. The little boy saw stars. He already felt the bruise forming on him cheek and realized the possibility that he could also get a black eye. The blow had knocked out one of his loose teeth, filling his mouth with blood. The pain and the fear took hold of his body and he leaned to his left, vomiting. What remained of his soup came pouring out of his mouth, along with some blood and the tooth. The acid burned his throat.

The thug smiled at his work like it was some big accomplishment, "That'll teach you some manners." He turned back and looked at the other guy. "Tim, get me a towel. The kiddos lost a tooth and's bleed'in a bit." Hamish leaned back, but it was useless. The man stuck the rag in his mouth and tied it behind his head, tightly. The two men left the room chuckling, and turned off the light. The boy's wrists were chaffed, his shoulders aching, and his jaw already sore. He kept back the tears until the door closed. He couldn't decide if he wanted to be found, or if he wanted his family to stay far away, safe.


	5. Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

"Now," said Sherlock, "we find him." With that the only consulting detective ran down to the flat and returned with a petri dish and a chisel. John and Rosie stepped back as Sherlock knelt to the ground and produced chips from the wooden floors- where the black light had shown the foot prints- and into the dish. As soon as he got a portion that suited him, he closed the dish, tucked it in his pocket and swept out the door and down out of the stairs to the flat; the other two following quickly. He called a cab and whipped out his phone while he stepped into the back seat. "St. Bart's. Quickly, and you might get an extra 50 quid." They were off like the wind. The food Rosie had bought was left to spoil on the floor.

Molly let the phone ring once. She didn't necessarily want to talk to Sherlock now, but the man preferred to text instead of call so this must be important.

"What is it Sherlock? It's almost 6:30 and I'm on my way out for the night."

"I'm going to need you to say for some overtime. I need help with an analysis that must be done with the utmost speed and accuracy."

Sherlock never asked for help, and the fact that he was doing it now worried Molly. "What's happened?"

"Hamish was taken from the flat coming to about hour ago now. I have debris from the soles of the kidnappers' shoes. I need to find him Molly, and I need your help."

Molly remembered the case involving the children at the chocolate factory, and knew what to do. "I'll get everything ready for when you get here. I'll see you soon." She quickly got to work. 

Sherlock hung up and they rode the rest of the way in silence.

When they got to St. Bart's, the trio practically flew to the doors and into Molly's lab- after the driver got his pay and the extra 50 quid. Sherlock placed the dish on the counter and nodded to Molly. They got to work silently. Rosie and John stayed out of the way. The silence was deafening but noise would only be a distraction. John suddenly lifted his head.

"Why don't I go down to the old headquarters and see if he's there. It could save us some time-"

"No," Sherlock didn't even look up from his microscope. "The note wanted us to 'wait for the next message'. Davies had 6 yeas to plan. He's not extremely mentally capable, but he would assume that sentiment would cloud our judgement and we would go there anyway. It could be a trap or a decoy, a decoy that could possibly prove to be harmful to Hamish if we 'break the rules'. We have to be certain of his whereabouts before doing anything; we can't start playing Davies' game." Sherlock looked up from his microscope and wrote something on his notepad and then began to mix more chemicals and debris to put under a microscope. The room returned to silence.

Occasionally Molly would walk over and mutter something to Sherlock and he'd write it in his notepad, but Rosie was too lost in thought to notice. 

How did Davies know all this about them? He had spies as Dad had mentioned, so he probably had visitors that reported to him while he was behind bars. Rosie suddenly wished the police were with them, not that they could intellectually contribute anything they didn't know already, but because they needed the numbers. The 4 of them against against what seemed to be an entire gang. Rosie wondered how the gang itself had gotten so large again after the leaders were put behind bars. Sleeper agents? Probably too complex for street gang, but from what she compiled from Papa and Dad the _Steel Glove_ as the gang had been called was pretty large at its height.

Rosie wondered how he had escaped from prison, where he was serving several life terms. Maybe some of Pentonville's employees were in fact part of the gang, or some gangsters had threatened prison staff. The latter seemed more likely, but that would mean the gang was much more influential than originally thought. Rosie began to believe that her parents had just taken down a branch of a much larger operation; and that filled her with fear.

She began to wonder what the intended result of the criminals was. Davies had to live without his children and he wanted revenge; so it made sense that he had intended to kill both her and Hamish. She wondered if torture was part of the original plan and tried not to think about what he brother could be very well going through. She wondered if Davies had been one of the men who took Hamish. It was unlikely. Davies didn't like to get his hands dirty and besides he had just escaped from prison; so he would need to lay low for a while. She wondered if he had planned to kill her parents too, because if Davies didn't he would either be arrested or killed. Probably not, he wanted them to _live_ in the pain. Davies didn't think he had anything left to live for without his kids, Rosie realized. That terrified her, he had no limits. He had nothing left to lose.

Rosie was just on the verge of what she felt an important realization when Sherlock shot out of his chair. They had been there for an hour which was record time, but it felt like an eternity. 

"Vegetation, cement, plaster, paper. Someplace with all these things. Where. Where? WHERE!" He closed his eyes, going into his mind-palace to a map of England. His hand swatted the air as if bat invisible things aside. He froze and opened his eyes. "Hughes Paper Factory! It's been abandoned for a while now and it's not far from here."

"Let's go!" cried Rosie, putting her coat on.

"No, you need to stay here with Molly," replied John. "It's you he wants."

That was all Rosie needed to make that realization. 

"Don't you see it!" she cried, surprising the three adults. "It has to be me. Cops? They kill him. They see you? It's their only chance, and even though they couldn't kill me too, he's dead. I could go in and even if they caught me I'd have a _chance_ to protect Hamish, because they would't kill him or me, not at that moment anyway."

"Shit. She's right," whispered John. 

No one in the room liked it, but they silently agreed that Rosie would have to go in. Alone. 


	6. Red Hen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescue mission is go.

"Let's go," said Rosie.

The Watson- Holmes' quickly left the building to hail a cab, leaving Molly to clean up as always. Usually this would frustrate her, but this time she didn't mind. She loved Hamish so much and he loved her too, calling her Auntie Molly. She teared up and her hands began to shake as she put away the droppers, flasks, and beakers. She just wanted him to come home safely. 

The trio quickly entered the cab and Sherlock again made a bribe to encourage speed. This time, the ride wasn't silent.

"I'll go in first and once I've secured Hamish, I'll text you to come in and call Lestrade." Rosie didn't even sound scared; the mix of adrenaline, anger and hope running through her body blocked away fear and forced her to focus. "I'll need a code word for if I get caught. I don't want them to bait you in."

"What'll the word be?" asked John. He wasn't really on board with Rosie going in, let alone by herself. The idea of her getting caught made his stomach flop and his parental instincts were going crazy. 

Rosie looked out the window before answering, "Red hen." John just accepted this but Sherlock got the pun. The Story of the Red Hen and the Sly Fox- in which a hungry fox captures a red hen in a sack to cook and eat her; but whilst the fox stops for a nap the hen cuts her way out to freedom. She replaces her spot with a rock and sews back up the sack before making her escape. The fox notices but by the time he does, the hen is safe from his reach- and in some versions he dies of starvation. Their case was admittedly a bit different, but close enough in other aspects. 

"We'll need several cops to make the arrests and probably at least one ambulance to make sure Hamish is okay and to tend to the goons. I don't think any of us plan on being gentle with those bastards."

John and Sherlock didn't let Hamish or Rosie to use curse-words but they made an exception for this _unique_ day. 

The cab stopped a block from the building as not to raise suspicion by anyone who might be watching. The family continued on foot through the dark in silence. One might think that Sherlock or John might have given their daughter some words of advice before she rushed into a building filled with armed and dangerous gangsters, but they said nothing. There was nothing to say that they hadn't said while they were on a previous case or Rosie, didn't know already.

They came to the building. The ground was mostly broken cement and weeds. The factory was surrounded by a breaking chain-link fence. The parents hid in some overgrown shrubs near the gate while Rosie approached it. The entrance to the gate was probably at the front and locked, but the fence breaking and cut in some places. Rosie walked to the side of the building, found one of the larger holes and slipped to the inside. She was really doing this. She walked to the back of the building where she knew there was a door, even if the gate didn't have one. 

She peered around the corner and saw an armed guard. He stood in front of a new door under an old light, because of the light she could see him. 6'7 tall and shaved bald. Gang tattoos. Mid twenties if she had to guess. A gun across his chest and a beyond bored expression on his face. 

She picked up a sizable rock and aimed it for his head before instead aiming up for the light. She probably won't be able to knock him out with it and only had one shot. She brought back her arm and threw it.

With a loud bang the old light came flying off the wall (at least it was quieter than a gunshot). The guard stepped forward in a shocked panic, jerking his head back and forth.

"Who's there?!" 

With the cover of darkness, Rosie ran behind him and kicked him in the back of the knees; he was too tall to knockout while standing at full height. He fell and before he was able to react she smacked him in the head with the barrel of her gun. The guard fell on his face, out cold. 

Rosie dragged him to the side of the building. She stripped him of his weapon and threw it to the side, then she searched his pockets. A ring of keys, a flip knife and a smart phone. Rosie smacked the phone on the ground, breaking it -but took the too other things, sliding the knife into her jean pockets. She picked through the keys and after a brief moment of searching, found the one to open the door and entered. 

John and Sherlock waited in anxious silence.

^*^*^*^*^

Upon entering Rosie was presented with a dimly lit hallway to her right and an even more dimly lit staircase to the left which offered both up and down. She chose the staircase, hostages and abductees were usually kept in the basements and cellars. Before she took the descending stairs she looked up the ones headed to the second floor. They hadn't looked like the'd been used anytime recently while the ones she was going down did. Holding her gun in front of her she went down the steeps and quickly and quietly as possible.

The basement was unfinished, the plaster walls crumpling. It was lit with all of the old lights that still worked, which was only about half and none of which worked well. 

The staircase opened into a small room which in turn opened into a wide hall. She walked to the hall slowly, looking for guards. None .She walked down the hall for a while, old doors occasionally popping up on the walls. The hall took a left hand turn. Rosie pinned herself against the wall and quickly poked her head around to the corner. There standing in front of another new door was a woman. She was 6' tall with long black hair and dead eyes. Rosie brought her head back and stood up straight. Approaching the guard would be too open. Rosie needed to bring the guard to her. She scuffed her shoes on the floors, drawing attention to herself. The guard perked up.

"Who's there?" Rosie goes silent. 

"I said, WHO'S THERE?" With her hand hands on her rifle, the guard approached the corner where Rosie stood. Just before she turned, Rosie jumped out and jabbed her in the throat with her pointer and middle finger. The guard fell the her knees, winded and unable to speak. She dropped her gun and clutched her throat. Rosie smashed her on the head with her gun and she fell unconsciousness. 

Rosie searched through her keys again. Unlocking the door she looked inside. No Hamish, only what looked to be several hundred thousand dollars in drugs, probably cocaine. Sighing, she left the room and dragged the body inside, locking it again. She continued down the rest of the long hall until it split, one way going right and the other going left. She looked left, a short hall then a dead end. She looked right. Mid-way down the hall stood another guard. He received the same treatment as the woman guarding the drugs.

^*^*^*^*^

Hamish had stopped struggling a while ago now. A little after the men had left the loss of his senses started to make him feel crazy. He screamed, struggled and pulled, but only succeeded in breaking the skin on his right wrist and gaining a raw throat. Now he only focused on keeping calm. He didn't know how long he'd been there or what time it was. So lost in thought, he didn't hear the guard outside his door get attacked, but heard the door open. He wondered if it was the 'boss' and prepared himself.

^*^*^*^*^

Rosie opened the door, it only took her a minute to find the key. She opened the door and the little light from the outside flooded the room. She saw the outline of what she had been hoping to see for hours. She flicked switched, the first modern light she'd seen since she entered the building. She dropped her gun.

^*^*^*^*^

The light flooded his eyes and when he was able to opened them again, he saw the outline of what he hadn't dared to hope for.

^*^*^*^*^

She was in front of him before she knows her legs were moving. Rosie kneeled down in from of the little boy and cupped his little face in her shaking hands. Tears were running down both of their faces. She saw the bruising and swelling of his cheek and eye and felt the anger swelling in her throat. She felt her heart break and a part of her die at the udder cruelty her brother had been subjected to. She planted a kiss on his forehead before reaching down to the knife in her pocket and cutting the bonds. The gag came off first.

"You have to go!" he cried. "They want to hurt you! You have to leave."

"Of course, you idiot. And your coming with me."

While she cut the ropes on his torso and wrists Hamish worked his jaw and Rosie saw how the skin on the right one had broken which left his hand stained red.

She finished cutting all the binds and pulled her baby brother into a tight hug. He felt so frail, like he was about to break. He wrapped his arms around her neck and rested the right side of his face against her shoulder to avoid putting pressure on the bruises. Rosie quickly pulled out her phone and texted Papa. 

"Red Hen."


	7. Grazed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that's left to do now is escape.

Rosie held her brother in her arms and remembered the first time she did so.

Hamish was so small. His head cradled in the crook of her elbow as he snoozed, his chubby baby fingers wrapped tightly around her pinky. Silent tears ran down her face; tears of disbelief and honor and pride. He was her little brother and no one else's and he was perfect. The baby opened his eyes and looking up at Rosie, smiled the silliest and cutest smile she'd ever seen. Looking at that smile she promised herself that she would be everything he deserved and more. She promised that she'd keep him safe. She promised to protect him. She failed. 

Now holding him again 7 years later and there were tears running from both their eyes now. Rosie pulled away from Hamish to tuck the knife back in her pocket and retrieve his glasses. When he put them on his face, she thought he began to look like his self again, and he began to feel like himself. With his sight, Hamish was able to make deductions.

He looked at Rosie in the eyes. "Thank you, Rosie. And- and I want you to know that this isn't your fault." Rosie looked at him and her lower lip quivered. Had she really made her emotions that apparent? "And I do prefer Hamish if you don't mind."

Rosie thought back to a couple of moments before to when she called him an idiot, and giggled. Hamish rarely ever talked, let alone made jokes and the fact that he made one in this situation made it even more funny. 

Rosie stood up, it was then that she noticed the old vomit. Hamish always got threw up when he got scared and the fact that those thugs scared him, but then didn't have the decently to clean up filled her with hatred. But what was she expecting? 

Rosie wanted to make each and every member of the _Steel Glove_ suffer for this. For hurting him. For taking him from her. For being able to torment and hurt so easily with pleasure and without regret. 

She leaned down, wrapping Hamish's arms once again around her neck and lifting him up into her arms. He wrapped his legs around her waist. Rosie tucked her hand beneath him to support the majority of his weight so he wouldn't have too. Hamish again rested his head in her shoulder. Rosie felt his stiff form melt into her as he closed his eyes and took calm breaths. He knew she would get them out of there, and she would.

^*^*^*^*^ 

As soon as they they got the text, John and Sherlock were off. They called Lestrade and he was on his way with backup and an ambulance before they entered the gate the same was as Rosie had. They didn't see the car pull up in the front and a figure enter the building. 

The guard was still unconscious but they both gave him a swift kick to the ribs, to be sure. Rosie had left the door unlocked, so getting in wasn't an issue. The men each took out the guns they kept on them and prepared themselves. They saw the staircase and the hall and making the same deductions Rosie had, they headed for the stairs. They were cut short by noises from down the hall. They went in the direction of the noise to make sure it wasn't their children. They were greeted with gunfire.

^*^*^*^*^

Rosie heard shots fire upstairs. They had to get out of there. 

Carrying Hamish she walked to the edge of the room and picked up her gun. Rosie ignored the body of the guard sprawled on the floor. She crept down the hallway slowly, looking for thugs who had come to check on their hostage.

She saw the hallway connecting to the staircase and quickened her pace. They were almost free. 

One of the old doors opened. Rosie looked around for cover but found none. She set Hamish down and put herself between him and the figure now blocking their path. Her gun raised at his chest and his gun was raised at hers. 

"Davies."

"The Watson- Holmes kids," his voice was cold and menacing. 

6'2. Dark hair. Skin clear of tattoos. He looked like an average man, but was so much more terrifying.

"I had so many things planned, and you had to go and ruin them, Rosemund. You're here now though, so I guess I'll improvise." The man fired his gun, but Rosie saw it coming. She swung herself to the side, sandwiching Hamish to the wall. She fired her own gun, hitting him in the kneecap. She heard his bones shatter. Davies screamed and dropped his gun to tend to his knee. He fell with a thud. 

Then Rosie felt the pain. 

She looked to her left arm and saw a hole ripped into her clothing. The bullet had grazed her, and took a sizable chunk of flesh with it. Blood was pouring out of the wound. It burned with agony that she had never felt before. Hamish moved from behind her and helped her as she slumped against the wall in shock. She stifled a cry and dropped her gun. She needed to calm herself, to focus. She needed to get them out of there.

Neither of them saw Davies reach for his gun.

^*^*^*^*^

John and Sherlock rushed down the stairs. The couple had taken down all the attackers on the upper floor, which happened to be the main hang-out. They had heard the gunshot a few moments ago and anxiety gripped their hearts and squeezed their lungs. 

John saw Davies bleeding on the floor and Rosie struggling to her feet with a large crimson stain in her clothing. He shot Davies in the wrist. 

The parents ignored the gangster's scream and ran to their children. John was a doctor and Sherlock a detective, so it didn't take them long to figure out what had happened to Hamish and Rosie. 

"Papa! Dad!" cried the little boy.

"Hamish! I'm so glad you're alright," said Sherlock scooping him into his arms.

John was kneeling in front of Rosie. He ripped a part of his shirt off and tied it above her wound. She winced. When he finished and stood up, Rosie wrapped her arms around him and he reciprocated. 

He leaned down a whispered, "You did it." 

Sherlock came over and with one am cradling Hamish, wrapped the other around his spouse and daughter. They stayed like this in relieved and loving quiet a moment befoe Rosie pulled away.

"Let's get out here." Rosie led the way down the hall, stopping in front of Davies. Sherlock made a move to stop her but John held him back. Rosie leaned down and whispered in his ear, 

"That's why you don't mess with a Watson- Holmes." She stood up and cried out against the pain in her arm. John was by her side in a flash, and the family made their way out of the building to the police and ambulances waiting outside.


	8. Ambulance Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Off to St. Barts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since my last installation. Apologies. I also thought this was going to be the last chapter or second to last chapter but I got more ideas so, this will be going on for a bit longer. Maybe even a series but I'm not going to get ahead of myself. I used to try to post daily but I think I should give myself more time to properly edit. I never thought I would ever publish, so it should be a little more professional. I hope you enjoy. Constructive criticism appreciated. Thank all of you for your time.

Rosie stumbled her way to the stairs, now mostly leaning on John. The pent up emotions had left her body, leaving only relief but mostly pain. Tears stung at the edges of her eyes. Her shoulder was sticky and the agony was unlike any she had every felt before. She could't bear to look at it. Instead she looked at Hamish. Curled up in Sherlock's arms, he looked so innocent and peaceful. 

They reached the exit. Time seemed to slow. Police rushed into the building, Lestrade and paramedics ran up to the family. The lights of the emergency vehicles, the noise, and the commotion was overwhelming, but welcome. John and Sherlock seemed reluctant to let the kids go, but understood it was necessary. Hamish and Rosie were both taken to ambulances with their fathers close behind. While they were being loaded up the men got into a police car, ready to follow. 

John got into the backseat with his husband. He ran his hands over his face and massaged his temples. "Oh my god. She did it. She really did it."

"Rosie did that?!" exclaimed Lestrade in surprise. "I mean- wow." Greg turned on his light and followed the ambulances down the road, away from the building. "That's incredible."

Sherlock just nodded in agreement and stared out the window. He squeezed John's hand. Hard. Sherlock's eyes were rimmed with red and shimmered a bit more than usual with the tears welling there. John could see him shaking a bit as he tried to keep it together. John realized that he too was shaking. He brought his hand up to Sherlock's face, and turned his head. Sherlock looked at John as he cupped his face in his hand. "It's okay, love." Sherlock nodded and pressed his forehead to John's. After a moment, Sherlock pulled back and looked John in the face.

"This can never happen again."

^*^*^*^*^

Rosie laid back in the ambulance as EMTs tended to her arm. She realized she was bleeding out quite severely and would probably need stitches. Paramedics cleaned and dressed the wound as she waited for the pain meds they had administered to kick in.

Rosie hoped that Hamish's separation anxiety wasn't as bad as hers. She wanted to be with him now, more than ever. Hamish needed a familiar face after what had just happened. Rosie needed to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn't disappear again. She smiled to herself: her parents may be getting older, but not any slower.

She wondered if Davies would keep his wrist and leg. Shooting the joints the way they did, they may have to be amputated. Not that she felt all that sorry for him. 

^*^*^*^*^

Hamish was tired. Emotionally and physically. Everything hurt and he just wanted to got home. He knew that Rosie would be missing him and he missed her too. He felt the new tooth poking around in his mouth and the swelling on his cheek and around his eye. He felt the dried blood on his wrist and the blisters on his ankles. He felt the stiffness in his jaw and the emptiness in his stomach. He felt himself become sleepy and almost happy as the pain reducers took effect. Hamish was so thankful he was out of there. In the dark and silence alone, for hours. Cramped. Thankful they didn't do anything more, because all that was way too much. Proud that Rosie came to get him, and that his family had figured it out. And angry. Angry that people wanted to hurt his family. Angry that they wanted to hurt ROSIE like that. Adults wanting to torture children seemed like a new kind of depraved. 

Hamish never talked much, even to his family. Preferring to keep to himself, he was always more of a loner. Only Rosie could really ever get him to talk. It was her super power and the thing she was most proud of. Even though they were not biologically related, the siblings shared a profound bond. A bond that Uncle Mycroft and Dad never understood. Their confusion on how you would WANT to be with your sibling always amused Rosie and John. Hamish pitied them though, they didn't know what they were missing out on in his opinion. Hamish looked like his Dad and had the amazing deductions of his father, but unlike Sherlock, he accepted his emotions. Hamish never really made his emotions apparent, but he didn't deny he had them. But given the circumstances, be believed that he was allowed to cry.


End file.
